That’s right, I used “love” and “January” in the same phrase.  The two words can go together if you take a glass-half-full point of view.  So just about the time you’re bemoaning your flaking winter lips, gray-sky spirit, and unavailable gym treadmill, give thanks for these underrated perks of that armpit of months: 

1. Citrus.
2. Boots that look like slippers and slippers that look like boots.
3. The constant possibility of a snow day.
4. Resolve.
5. The first-round auditions of American Idol.
6. Philosophy bubble bath in “Pure Grace” scent.
7. Hot drinks spiked with magical potions that warm you through and through.
8. Corduroy in fun primary colors.
9. Birds counting on you for sustenance and rewarding you with their presence in your backyard.
10. Flannel sheets and flannel shirts.
11. The Golden Globes and their drunken guests and glamorous fashions.
12. Soup on the stove and cookies in the oven.
13. No weeding or mulching.
14. A clean slate.

Because I am not a celebrity (except sometimes in my own mind) and iTunes has refused to feature me on its Celebrity Playlists, I will offer my own version here, in my own writing space, where I call the shots.  Listening to this playlist at the gym this morning while sprinting my Christmas-cookie-stuffed heart out made me all happy and motivated and New Year’s fresh-feeling.  Lots of Glee and sunshine on this list.

“I Need a Silent Night” Amy Grant (because I do)

“Somebody to Love” (Glee Cast Version) (because it’s Gleeful)

“Sic ‘Em On a Chicken” Zac Brown Band (there’s a fast fiddle part in the middle that makes you want to sprint off the treadmill with energy)

“Proud Mary” (um, Glee Cast Version again)

“Jingle Bells” Amy Grant (not the version you’re thinking of; emphasis on the syncopation here)

“Lean On Me” (Er, Glee Cast Version)

“Waking Up in Vegas” Katy Perry (I just like the melody, okay?)

“Don’t Stop Believin’” (Proud to admit it, Glee Cast Version)

“Raining Sunshine” Miranda Cosgrove (sunshine!)

“Lemonade” Phil Vassar (Still trying to figure out all the lyrics, but I think they go: “Sometimes you’re the king, sometimes you rule; sometimes you’re the joker man playin’ the fool.  Sometimes you fit in, sometimes you’re just out of place.  Sometimes you fall, fall all the way down, sometimes you shoot over” — ? — “before you hit the ground, but you gotta play the game, so why play it safe?  Life’s about changes, lemons into lemonade.”) 

 “American Honey” Lady Antebellum (talks about summer a lot…mmmmm…and honey a lot…mmmmm)

“How You Live (Turn Up the Music)” Point Of Grace (got this one free on a CMA Music Fest promo card; nice message)

“Dancing In Circles” Love and Theft (my favorite new song and the perfect cooldown with eyes closed)

I was driving along the highway in my monster truck, zoned out listening to the instrumental version of “Sleighride,” when a tiny red cardinal came along out of the winter morning.  The male kind, the striking red you notice especially in winter against the backdrop of the gray, leafless tree limbs. 

This little guy stood out, too, but it was too late.  He flew across the road like he couldn’t help himself, and he was no match for my monster truck.  I squeezed my eyes shut and hoped he’d made it across.  But when I looked back in my rear-view mirror, I saw the unmistakable flash of red bouncing and fluttering on the road.  Even worse, he wasn’t dead, instead in pain and lying there waiting for the next monster truck to come along.  I said it aloud, “Oh, no, I hit a cardinal!”  Like hitting a wren or a robin wasn’t as bad, but a gorgeous red cardinal, and a teenage cardinal at that.  I felt sick, and the cheerful music felt wrong.

I tried to console myself with the thought that it was the little guy’s fault.  Surely he saw me.  Why did he just fly into my truck?  Stupid bird.  Or else he was reckless, or he wanted to die.  Except maybe he couldn’t stop mid-flight.  And, when it came down to it, why do I drive a big mean man-made truck?  He was just flying along in his own air space, minding his own business.  His kind was here before my truck ever was.  He belongs here.  My truck has no business here.  Maybe I should stop driving entirely. 

I felt sick the rest of the way home, in honor of the lost cardinal, knowing in an hour I’d be having brunch with friends and would have forgotten all about him, while he flopped around on that cold highway getting rained on.  I vowed to fill all my bird feeders to the brim that morning.

When I pulled into my driveway, another cardinal just like his lost friend was perched on my fence, the exact same size, another teenager.  Maybe they even went to the same bird high school.  I told myself it was a sign, that this little bird was here to tell me, “It’s alright.  It was meant to be.  It’s all part of the circle of life.”  I turned off the ignition and paused there for a minute, door closed, not wanting to exit and scare him away.  “No, really, go about your day,” the bird told me.  “Never mind us.  It was his fault.”

Or maybe I was just trying to make myself feel better.